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Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Broken off from the moon and strung just for her

It was smooth and cool to the touch, a piece of the moon,broken off from the stars and strung just for her,celestial energy she could caress.During the day, she wore a red flower brilliantas the sun’s heat in her hair. But it was pure adornmentunlike the jewel she knew was her source, the moon,that body that spoke to women who knew themselves.Absently, with her fingers delicate as gossamer,she reached up and touched the stone, a piece of the moon,broken off from the stars and strung just for her,a celestial body that spoke to her.One evening, while standing where the island stretchesoff the coast like the edge of despair or the beginningof bliss, she said to me, “Your backbone rigid likebroken edges of rock could be strong instead of rigid.Why ride the bicycle careening down the hilllike a reckless child who hasn’t learn to harness her power?”With hands as soft as the down newborns wear,she took my hands and placed them on her breast.I half expected a lullaby instead she wailed;a crazy bird, its song like women weeping.The screeching she spun off made me feel like the childriding the bicycle careening down hill.I wanted no part of this. Where was the blazing sun, rayslulling me into oblivion where days pass like heat wavesshimmering off sand? I’d rather suffer a litanyfrom a lover, his monotonous voice like white dry noise drowning me.

Then I felt her cradling me. I felt the cool, smooth stone,pressed against my forehead, a piece of the moon,broken off from the stars and strung just from me.No wailing, but the sweet lullaby I wanted.I knew her and the moon, that body that spoke to me.She taught me how to harness my power. I learned to coalesce my own forces.

Thanks Mama, one of the rare times I attempt longer lines. Had been a writing challenge and what I appreciated about it was that it forced me to stretch and to work within limits principally, given phrases had to be used. So I was also experimenting with images and vocabulary not common in my own word box.

" the island stretchesoff the coast like the edge of despair or the beginningof bliss, "

Oh, I like that. And I'm always all about any poem dealing with women and the moon. I like the resistance near the end, and then the acceptance of what's given, which seems to be just the thing, after all.

very cool story telling...like the repetition as well..like a constant cord wove through and how at first it seems different with the woman but the repetition again strings it back in with the same elements....

Your site wont let me post except for the "reply" spot, kiddo - the way you wove the repetition through this really makes it sing........I love this moon poem, and the way the story evolves. Especially love the same lines Fireblossom noted.

I love this, it is filled with power. "our backbone rigid like broken edges of rock could be strong instead of rigid." This line for me shows a woman who knows her vulnerability and also knows how to turn it into her strength. Really wonderful piece.

You weave a powerful piece here, LaTonya. The acceptance of that cradling, the surrender... says it all. Like Liz, the "backbone" stanza leads to the inevitable conclusion: Women's strength is knowing when to surrender to herself and to the essence. Amy